The Mission of Inappropriate Chaos
by CyrusLestrange
Summary: The Mission was simple: To de-flower Remus Lupin. He's kind, honorable, and innocent, and Marlene loves a good heart, as well as a good deed. But she's not expecting or prepared for the Human-Atomic-Bomb that is Sirius Black; impossible to run away from, with a tendency to accidentally take down everyone around him with the tornado of chaos that stems from his own blinding charm.


**"But Amie, you have about twenty unfinished Fics, are you SURE you want to start another?"**

**To which I reply,**

**...**

**Enjoy. This is based on true events. Life is sometimes crazier than your most rampant imagination.**

— The Mission —

It's almost midnight, and I can't stop giggling for the life of me.

I'm in my _best friend's room_— my best friend whom I haven't seen for an entire _year_— seeing as she betrayed our unwavering routine of visiting each other _every_ Christmas break, to stay at Hogwarts with her new _boyfriend _instead, and we are giddy as a couple of schoolgirls about our reunion. I use that last comparison in jest— _tres drole_, _Marlene_— because up until a mere _three days ago_, we were schoolgirls. But now we are _standing proud_— or rather, we are clutching each other weezing on the floor— Marlene McKinnon and Lily Evans, two fully qualified witches! Two fully grown adult-women.

Again, I jest.

But whatever we still may be on the inside, we _were_ deemed ready for the world by Beaubatons and Hogwarts Schools for Witchcraft and Wizardry, respectively, and there's an air of glowing pride in the room around us for it. Lily's hardwood, but colorfully rug-ed, floors are littered with sweet wrappers, take-out containers, and empty coffee saucers and I'm feeling a mixture of elation at her presence, bone-deep happiness at the look of mad puppy-love in her eyes, and a wicked sugar-rush.

"Don't! _Don't_ Marlene, I'm going to burst!" Lily declares on a gasp, clutching her stomach, and only making me laugh harder. In a moment of rare mercy, I bite my tongue against another joke I had just thought of in regards to her sister's new boyfriend. Instead, I let my own breathing return to normal, and let my head rest on my arms for a moment, prodding at her with my big toe and grinning like a loon.

"Fine, fine. I'll spare you, but only because I love you so _bloody _much," I jab my toe into the squashy part of her arm and attempt a glare, "how could you have _abandoned_ me this Christmas, you rotten wench! I nearly died by the end of the term, not seeing _one_ single other Englishperson for nearly an entire year."

Lily bites her lip and grins at me, only managing to look about 10 percent guilty. I grin too, closing my eyes and rolling onto my back, knowing that when I open them, I'll see the field of glow-in-the-dark stars we applied so carefully by hand, to her ceiling, at age nine. "No, no, I know it's because you're in _love_," I open my eyes, smiling at the little plastic stars. Then I turn my head to look at her— tousle-haired and green-eyes alight with this newfound fire, "I'm so happy for you, Lil," I say in all seriousness. The light in her eyes shines a little brighter and she looks at me for a moment before that specific little glaze comes over the green irises, and I know her mind is full of memories of James Potter again. I can't help my smile.

I _had_ told her.

As far back as two summers ago, when the majority of her stories from the school-year had suddenly contained 'Potter', I had told her. Sure, nearly every story had been about a nasty tussle they had had, a terrible prank-gone-wrong, or else a highly harassing attempt to ask her out. And sure, when Lily was telling me said stories, she had been all fire and sparks, all sharp tongue and flushed cheeks, all blazing eyes and shaking head. But I had known it then like she finally knew it now. She had it bad for this James Potter. I had _also _known that _she_ hadn't realized this yet, and probably wouldn't for quite some time. But I had told her anyways— _much_ to the sacrifice of my own left arm, which she had then beat viciously with a copy of 'Witch Weekly'.

I had arrived fresh from France on the doorstep of her parent's house at 7:45 this evening, and after a scarfed-down dinner, we had bolted up to her room, where she had spent the last four hours telling me the _whole_ story. It had been like a delicious four-hour episode of one of my mother's romantic television shows, and I had sucked down the tale with the delighted ears that someone fresh in love needs. She had told me the entire evolution (much of it she had only really understood in retrospect) of her and James' love-hate feelings for each other, and had remedied her awful stories from the seven years previous with tales of his wild-brilliant-and-good-humored streak. And as it always is in new love, she had also fallen in love with his gang of friends, and had described to me with fond amusement, each of their roles and quirks.

I unwrap a toffee, sucking on the end, feeling that pleased warmth that comes from hearing a really good story. Chock-full of really good characters. Having attended Beauxbaton since the age of 11, I've never even _seen_ Hogwarts, and Lily and I always swap tales of our schools with equal wide-eyed fascination. I love the idea of this renegade group of English schoolboy-punks, running Devil may care around the school, and I _love_ the idea of my strong, feisty, high-moraled Lily being dragged around with them.

"I'm so excited for you to meet them," Lily throws a suspicious looking Bertie Bott's Bean at me, and laughs giddily. "God, they're going to _like_ you," she smirks, eyeing me wickedly, "my _exotic_ best mate."

I roll my eyes and chuck the Bean back at her, because she knows that I hate being considered French, which I'm _not_— I'm just as English as she is, seeing as I grew up until age eleven only three houses down the road.

"If I find out that you have described me as such, I _will_ be telling James about the no-pants-incident of four summers ago."

"I haven't!" she gasps, as if hurt I would dare use such a low blow. Then we both grin at the memory. "_Actually_, I think you might like Remus," she says in a tone that's too casual, and I know this is something her and James Potter have probably talked about planting in my head.

"Oh, yeah?" I say, amused.

"Yeah…" she trails off in a way that makes me suddenly uneasy. I narrow my eyes and she smiles a little sheepishly, "I mean you _really _would like him, Marlene, he's the most kind-hearted, stoic human being I've ever met. But he doesn't have much—er— confidence when it comes to girls," I raise my eyebrows and she gives up beating around the bush and pulls herself to a sitting position, "I think you should de-flower him."

There's the bold girl I know.

"_Sorry_?" I ask, unable to hold back a snort at the absurdity of her phrasing.

"I know, I know, but it's really affecting him lately, I can tell!" Lily says in a rush, wincing as if she can't believe what she's saying, "he's such a wonderful person, but he's just, you know… doesn't know how to make a _move_ on girls, and what with me and James being together, and Sirius being Sirius— I can just tell it's taking it's toll on his self-esteem!" she gives me a look of innocence, "and as you are _French_—"

"Really? _While_ you're asking for a favor?—"

"—and _very_ experienced in these matters, I thought it might be a fun project for you. You told me last year that you _loved _feeling like the older, more experienced woman."

I laughed. She had a point there, I remembered that giddy, late-night conversation, too.

"But we're the same age— he's probably older than me."

"But, you know, experience wise, he's younger, you could say…"

I snort again, but the idea bounces around in my mind anyways. I've never been with a virgin, and being, as Lily so gracefully said, _French_, and experienced in the sensual nature of guy-girl interactions for quite some time now, I find it all terribly fun and good-humored, and the idea of showing someone else into this wonderful new world… sounds very sweet indeed. Especially someone who is so sweet himself, judging by all the stories that Lily has told me thus far tonight.

I catch Lily's eye and I can see in her face that she knows she's got me, and I can't help but laugh. "Well, you know me, I love a good deed," I say, and it's her turn to snort. "Tell me about Remus again," I say, and I can hear my own voice turn more professional, now that we are entering plotting-mode. "He's rationale of the group?" Lily nods. "Does he have a sense of humor?"

"Of course he does. They all do," she grins widely, more memories that I'm not yet a part of no doubt playing behind her eyes.

"But none like your _James_," I tease, watching her grin grow more and more dopey. She snaps-to, and smiles.

"That's right," she considers for a moment, "well, actually, Sirius Black is the probably the _funniest_ one if I'm being hones—"

"Serious_— Black— _is his _name_? That's the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard," I smirk to myself, "what's _he_ like then? Go on. Is he _Seriously_ black? Real dark, angsty sort?"

Lily rolls her eyes, "I can't tell you how many jokes like that I've heard, but I _will_ tell you that most of them come from Sirius himself, and that most of them now make me want to curse his mouth shut."

I smirk again because I've touched a nerve. Lily plows ahead,

"Remus is the most mature. He always has been more mature than the other kids in our year… Now I know, of course, it's because he's been dealing with the full moon every month for years and years, but he's very humble about it, and patient with some of the more… reckless and difficult students…"

"Like James and Serious-Black," I grin, and she nods with a laugh.

"He's honestly so lovely, Marlene, just wait," she smiles at me, and I giggle back, the sugar-rush making a bit of a resurgence in my system. We pass another two hours chattering and laughing, and plotting how best to not intimidate Remus Lupin. Then, heads resting together, having somehow made it off the floor and into her bed, we finally fall asleep.

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**Please review so I know you exist.**


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